The Exchange: Last Words

Since the execution of the Quakers Marmaduke Stevenson and William Robinson in 1659, more than sixteen thousand executions have taken place in the United States. In a new book, “Last Words of the Executed,” Robert K. Elder compiles the final utterances of many of those sentenced to death in our country over the past three hundred and fifty years. The words range from the desperate and the apologetic to the insouciant and the jocose. The condemned blame alcohol or dangerous women for their crimes, bid adieu to their loved ones, or use the occasion to protest capital punishment as an institution. A sampling:

“Gents, this is an educational project. You are about to witness the damaging effect electricity has on Wood.”—Frederick Wood, convicted of murder and executed by electric chair in 1963.

“There is no way words can express how sorry I am for taking the lives of my babies. Now I can be with my babies, as I always intended. I love you my babies.”—Christina Riggs, convicted of murdering her two children and executed by lethal injection in 2000.

“When I die, bury me deep, lay two speakers at my feet, put some headphones on my head and rock and roll me when I’m dead.”—Douglas Roberts, convicted of kidnapping, robbery, and murder and executed by lethal injection in 2005.

In his book, Elder presents the last words as a chronological list divided by method of execution, with minimal contextualization of the prisoner’s crime and conviction. What emerges is a harrowing portrait of our justice system, which has sent to death not only innocents and hardened criminals alike, but also men and women with mental disabilities, such as John Cassidy, who, after learning to read in prison and writing the word “remembrance” on his cell wall, said, “Isn’t it hell, warden, when you get so you can write words like that, to have to be bumped off?”

Last week, I exchanged e-mails with Elder about his project.

Why last words?

I was an arts journalist for most of my career, and movies have always been my first love. So, one night in 2003, my girlfriend and I rented “Stevie,” a documentary by Steve James. I’m giving away the ending of the film a little when I say that someone in the documentary goes to prison. My girlfriend, who was then an attorney for the Illinois Department of Corrections, said, “I’m going to look him up.”

I was amazed at how much information was available about this particular inmate, and she said, “That’s nothing, you should see Texas’s Web site.” I spent the next several hours, long after she went to bed, pouring over the death-row section of the Texas prison-system site. It had everything: details of crimes, appeals, final meals, and last words.

Last words were the most riveting, and after a little digging I was appalled to find no modern study of last words. My curiosity was: If these are the most dangerous, outcast members of society, why does it remain a cultural value to record what they say? And what can we learn from them?

As you discuss in the book, the nature of last words seems to change based on the form of the execution. There is a strongly oratorical, performative quality to the last words of prisoners who die by hanging, in contrast with the more intimate, often apologetic speeches of those executed by gas chamber or electric chair. Could you comment more on how the method of death influenced the final expressions of the prisoners?

The common denominator is fear. Even those who go out with bravura, I can’t help but detect that as a defense mechanism.

As for the method of death influencing the words, each had an impact. During the firing squad, for example, it wasn’t uncommon for the condemned to speak directly to the men pointing guns at them. For those who faced the gas chamber, it was the first time we recorded last words from people in the process of dying. And then, of course, the electric chair, a.k.a. Old Sparky, was a feared method of execution and many of the condemned express terror or doubt or reluctance about how swift their deaths might be.

The content of the speeches themselves change, too. Modern last words tend to be more political, as illuminated by the passionate death-penalty debate in this country. During Prohibition, the condemned tended to blame their troubles on “liquor and bad women.” The largest shift, however, was the move from public to private executions behind prison walls. Those on the gallows, speaking to crowds, were in a very real way on a public stage. They would often offer advice, spiritual guidance—even sing hymns. Behind prison walls, in some states, the condemned could speak directly to their family or the family of their victims. These last words tend to be more plainspoken, more intimate, and people are addressed directly and by name. You don’t find much of that before 1930.

Each chapter in the book presents the final words of each prisoner, followed by their names, the date of their deaths, and the details of their crimes and convictions. Why did you decide to present the book in this form as opposed to, say, only including their names and words without contextualization? What was your reasoning in also including the prisoners’ written statements released to the press as opposed only the last spoken words?

I simply wanted to give a representative sample of humanity, through the lens of this act. I think including short biographies or case details illuminate the life of the condemned—as well as their victims. I did not want their crimes or victims to be forgotten, so the short bios add context. I’m also able to raise questions about those who may have been innocent and point out the handful of folks we know were innocent (example: William Jackson Marion).

As for the mix, some have final words that are spoken, some are written, some are hidden in their cells or spoken to their lawyers. I mostly stuck with official statements, but where appropriate, I dug deeper. For example, convicted Russian spies Julius and Ethel Rosenberg had no official last words, though they did leave a note to their friend and lawyer.

I was very interested to read, in the afterword on your sources and research process, that often the last words were rehearsed before the execution. Particularly, you mention Rev. Carroll Picket who counseled prisoners in Texas on what to say prior to their scheduled deaths. What role do you believe rehearsal and counseling played in forming these last words?

It tended to keep them short. In fact, one warden said, “No Gettysburg Addresses,” which, of course, is the opposite of what he meant. The Gettysburg Address is short. But he meant: No lengthy speeches. I think it also took some of the pressure off the inmates. Rather than have a build-up to the moment, it gave them a little time to reflect on what they might want to say. This process also had another function: If prison officials knew what was going to be said ahead of time, then they didn’t run the risk of cutting someone off by beginning the execution too early.

I think the last words have also all been censored, to one extent or another. Certainly for profanity. There are several examples of this throughout the book—so the condemned have had their words redacted by prison officials or, in earlier times, the newspapers covering public executions.

The taking of last words does not happen in a void. In fact, Rev. Pickett told me that the prisoners on death row he counseled all knew what the man executed ahead of them said. That certainly influenced them not to echo one another too closely. Some inmates chose to say nothing because they felt the person before them had been misquoted or their words had been used against them in some way.

One final thought, pulled directly from the book: Witnesses often hear what they want to. Even news reporters often hear the words incorrectly, as Ted Koppel did in a “Nightline” report on the 1995 execution of Mario Marquez. Koppel reported his last words as, “I hold nothing against anyone, not even the prosecutors. I just want to come home to Him. Thank you, Lord Jesus.” The prison recorded: “Thank you for being my Lord Jesus and Savior and I am ready to come home. Amen.”

Rev. Pickett said he alerted Koppel to the discrepancy, and Pickett explained the matter this way: “So many people hear what they want to hear or hear only a portion, and also because they’re very emotionally involved. It’s difficult to watch. I’m not criticizing the press; it’s difficult to watch somebody dying … who doesn’t speak real loud even though we got a microphone ten inches from them.” But, Pickett added, even official prison releases are sometimes imperfect. “There’s no way for it to be totally accurate,” he said.

You’ve said that you believe the speeches fall into the five stages of grief. What are your thoughts, however, on those prisoners who choose to make jokes, give shout-outs to their favorite sports teams, or use the opportunity to protest capital punishment or the justice system?

I think you could argue that those fit into acceptance—but I like to think that humanity is ultimately unpredictable. I was constantly surprised by what people said, even after seven years of research